


Stars May Collide

by starianprincess



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Run-On Sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starianprincess/pseuds/starianprincess
Summary: In which Yuuri meets the God of Skating, but doesn’t know it.





	Stars May Collide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Sort of PWP, my apologies!

Yuuri doesn’t understand how exactly, but he will know. He will close his eyes, open them slowly, raise his arms, straighten his back. Exhale. And then he will hear the shift on the ice, a smooth slice against its surface. 

He will watch the faint shadow on his right grow larger and larger, until it has enveloped him like great, big wings. He might forget to breathe, for just a moment. Press his lips tightly to form a thin line. Be unable to help the shiver which runs up his spine. 

But, still, he will wait. Until the scraping stops short behind him. Until a hand finds his in the dark, gliding across the back of his palm. Cool against his skin, yet setting his insides on fire.

Until he is certain that he isn’t alone, when he ought to be.

“Just you again?” 

Yuuri nods. Turns around.

He will have to adjust, stretch his neck a little bit so that he can properly meet the man’s eyes. He will not look away, not until the man looks away first. Yuuri will allow the moment to consume him, and it will begin with the man’s gaze.

He will then long to drag his fingers across the man’s forehead. Long to trace his way from the man’s left ear to his jaw. Instead, with a start, Yuuri pushes away, hands firmly planted behind his back. Trying to focus on his rhythm, when all he can hear is the heavy beating of his heart.

“It wasn’t a good day, was it?”

Finally, Yuuri replies: “No,” he frowns, his voice rough, “I wasn’t even close to making it on the podium.”

Neither of them says another word for a good long while. Perhaps, in truth, the silence only spans a few minutes. But the air is thick and Yuuri can’t get his own whiny tone out of his head. And maybe, today, the visit will only last a few minutes because all he could do was complain. 

Yuuri whips his head, franticly checks to see if the man is still there. Wonders why it matters so much to him. 

Because this man is not a friend. Not a friend in the way Phichit is, with his periodic video calls, checking to see how Yuuri is doing, when will Yuuri come to visit next. Not a friend in the way his coach, Celestino is, with his determined smile and almost-too-warm hands on Yuuri’s back (so concerned that it hurts to look at Celestino sometimes). 

Not a friend in the way Yuuko is, with her cheery wave and the space she lets Yuuri keep between them, the way she leaves him to stew in his misery. 

In fact, the man is so far removed from his circle, that Yuuri wonders, again, why it bothers him. Because here’s the truth, plain and simple: the man is a stranger who, every so often, breaks into Ice Castle for whatever reason. He’s a decent skater – better than that, actually. By leaps and bounds. And, sometimes, if Yuuri is brave enough to ask, the man will give him a pointer or two. 

Sometimes, he won’t. Sometimes, he will leave a cryptic remark. Skate around Yuuri in lazy, looping circles, all perfect grace and, every so often, when Yuuri least expects it, present him with a majestic quadruple flip. Like a taste of magic. A teasing, provocative taste.

And, of course, when he does this, Yuuri will stare, eyes wide, because he will be unable to do anything else. And the man will chuckle, come back up to his side. Ask Yuuri if he would like to see it again. And, of course, Yuuri will nod his head vigorously, find his voice, hear it squeak, wince, but ask him to please do it again.

And, again, it depends. He doesn’t know on what, but it depends. 

Some days, the man will tell Yuuri to keep his eyes on him, don’t look away, and he will do it again. Other days, he will continue laughing and Yuuri will laugh with him and he will forget for a moment that he wanted so badly to see it. And the man will be gone before Yuuri comes to his senses.

And this will make Yuuri sad and confused. 

But not as sad and confused as on the days Yuuri hears the music.

He is convinced that he imagines it all, that it isn’t really playing because if it were then someone else would have heard, and he would have had to explain to Yuuko and Takeshi. Would have had to come up with a reason as to why he and a stranger sometimes find themselves in varying states of undress on the ice. Or by the side of the rink.

Even he isn’t sure how it happens.

“You’re too stiff,” the man whispers, coming up behind him, running his hands up Yuuri’s waist. Lingering there for a split second, heat radiating from the tips of his fingers, before moving on.

Yuuri leans into the touch, back against the man’s chest. Angles his head and expects the man to know what he wants. And it is shameless and so unlike him, that he can’t help doing it. Can’t help taking the man’s hands and keeping them in place. 

It is their wicked little secret. The man grins, pushes himself forward, catches Yuuri’s cheek. Presses his lips gently into Yuuri’s skin. 

Yuuri twists around and aligns their mouths. His fists are curled between them, grasping at the man’s shirt. The man winds his arms across Yuuri’s back, drawing snake-like figures until his fingers intertwine behind Yuuri’s neck. Pulling them closer still, as Yuuri traces the man’s bottom lip with his tongue. Nipping. Sucking. Tugging.

They pull apart, panting heavily. This, Yuuri is proud of, the pink on the man’s cheeks, eyes glazed over with need and want and every promise he will eventually take with him.

This is when Yuuri goes in for the kill. Reaches for the man’s zipper, grinds their hips together in a deliberately slow dance. Never once taking his eyes off of him. Yuuri doesn’t care, has stopped caring about his insecurities, about his loss, about how he’s just about decided it’s time to call time of death on his ice skating career. Because right now at this very moment, there is only him and the ice and—

“Viktor,” Yuuri sighs, guiding them to the edge of the rink, lowering their bodies until he is between the man’s thighs. “Viktor, please.”

And Viktor nods, leans his back against the wall, still has an arm looped across Yuuri’s shoulders. Doesn’t press him on, allows Yuuri to take his time. Because Yuuri knows exactly how he likes it.

They build on a steady rhythm, their voices coming together on a breathy, reverberating hum. 

Viktor pulls Yuuri up, tracing the corner of his chin. Yuuri smiles back, and it is this look – one of uncertainty and vulnerability, one of yearning and unfiltered need, one of sorrow, a kind he can’t quite pinpoint on the spectrum of sadness – that stalls him. That makes Viktor want to stay.

He asks Yuuri to get on his back, to relax, to open. For him.

And, as always, Yuuri will oblige. He will keep his eyes on Viktor, drinking him in like a man dying of thirst. He will run his fingers through Viktor’s almost translucent platinum hair, cradle Viktor’s face in his palms, cry out that he wishes this moment could last forever. He must be crazy. Please let him not be dreaming.

And Viktor will bask in the glow of that wish, silently take it in, marvel at the light this one mortal emits. Send a tiny prayer up to the heavens that Yuuri’s journey continue to lead him far, far away, until their trysts at Ice Castle fade into nothing more but faint memories. 

Because long after Yuuri wakes, long after he has gathered himself, and wondered if his mind is truly lost, Viktor will once again emerge from the shadows.

He will mill about the ice, stretch his legs, his arms. And, before the human eye could blink, he will take flight. Soar above the rink. Pass through the building until he is seated on the roof, watching the clouds tumble over themselves. Watching the sky change from a soft orange and violet to a blinding cream.

He will smile. 

He will tell himself that this is the last time.

And, as always, he will not be able to keep his promise.

**~ OWARI**


End file.
